


Feline Intuition

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cat/Human Hybrids, Hybrids, M/M, RPF, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psuedo-hybrid!play, for my Mandy's birthday.  Kitty!Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feline Intuition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/gifts).



The cat jokes start right away, contrary to the belief that they only came later when his hair started to go vertical and his body started to grow thin and willowy. Sure, the moves came along with that later development, but the attitude was always there; sharp, aloof, and a little cool, but also fiercely competitive and loving once you got underneath that first tricky wire.

It's little things; his ADD makes him jump from task to task (shiny, shiny) and he's easily distracted. He can be a total bitch when the mood strikes or someone pisses him off. He moves like an irritated ballet dancer, hips swishing and hair sometimes styled in a way that makes him even look like a cat.

One day he falls asleep in his make-up chair and one of the assistants gels his hair into two huge ear shapes. He walks around like that for half an hour before Darren strolls past and laughs until he cries, making paws in the air and meowing.

"I am going to murder a bitch," Chris snarls, and Darren laughs even harder.

But it's already too developed by that point. Too many in-jokes and the perfect personality to suit it and of course he's a cat person and before Chris knows it he's being compared to a cat at every turn.

It doesn't help that he likes Brian more than he likes--almost everyone, and he is very vocal about that fact.

"Cats are just awesome," he announces. "They're independent and snotty and they don't take shit. When they want love they let you know, otherwise they fuck off. They are the best pets ever."

"Brian pooped in your shoe once," Darren points out.

"He was testing me," Chris replies smoothly. "See: that's how smart they are. You don't just own a cat. They own you, too. It's more give and take than you can get from humans."

"You worry me, Chris," Amber comments.

"I love Brian more than I love you, I think," Lea announces, brows drawing together. "Is that normal?"

"Meow," Darren adds.

And the joke just kind of never goes away.

It's fucking hilarious when Chris is drunk, is the problem. Like--he can't decide, on the average day, whether or not he finds the comparison insulting or complimentary, but when he's drunk it is the best thing ever, and when he's drunk with the cast and crew it is even funnier.

He spends more time than he recalls crawling around on all fours making cat noises. He chases shiny objects and laser pointers. He knocks baubles off of Ashley's outfits just to crawl drunkenly after them. 

One night they give him a pair of cat ears out of the wardrobe room and he wears them proudly. Cory draws whiskers on his cheeks with a stick of Lea's eyeliner and he cheers and purrs drunkenly.

At some point he flings himself into Darren's arms--they're all kind of dancing in weird configurations, so there's no thought put into the action. Darren holds him close. They have absolutely no problem violating each other's personal space--compared to spending six hours kissing with a camera two inches from your face, this intimacy is nothing.

"Hey, kitty," Darren breathes. He's not as drunk as Chris but not sober, either.

"Mrow," Chris replies, dropping his cheek on Darren's shoulder. "Whiskey?"

"No more whiskey," Darren answers, sliding a hand around to rest on Chris' lower back.

"Petting is good," Chris says, wiggling. "Petting is an acceptable drink subst--sub--shit."

Darren laughs, scritching his nails over Chris' tail bone. "Itchy?"

"Ooh, you are the best ever," Chris moans, wriggling. "Harder." He whines. "Purrrrrr."

"Pretty," Darren sighs, swaying them in circles and squashing his face against Chris' sweaty throat. 

"You're my favorite," Chris says, shoving all ten of his fingers into Darren's hair at once.

"Totally heard you say that to Cory five minutes ago," Darren replies, and then sings, "Quit playin' games with my heart."

"Sing more, maybe if you do--good, enough, I'll love you more," Chris rambles. "And more scratches."

Darren puts his fingers to the back of Chris' neck and scratches. "I have no singing left in me," Darren sighs, finishing his drink and putting it down so that he can put one hand on Chris' ass and keep the other in his hair. He scratches both at once. "My heart is empty of song. You are a song succubus--or is that an incubus or--"

"Forgiven," Chris sighs, wiggling. "Favorite. Less talking, more petting." He turns his face into Darren's scratchy stubble and licks a path from his Adam's apple to the hinge of his jaw. "Mmmsalty."

"Christopher."

"'M'in trouble?" He nibbles Darren's jaw, then rubs close, knocking the hollow just below his jaw against Darren's. "Marking you, shhh."

It's easy to slide a leg between Darren's under the guise of dancing. The licking obviously drives Darren nuts and he cracks, mimicking the gesture, dragging the flat of his tongue along Chris' smooth cheek. Their eyes meet--the darkness of the room fractures in colorful shadow all around them--and Chris drunkenly knocks their foreheads together.

"Bad kitty," Darren breathes, and kisses him without warning, warm and wet and rough, pushing a very obvious erection into his hip. Chris mews and opens his mouth; Darren's fist holds him still by the scruff of his neck.

That's how he finds himself in the bathroom of the establishment that had been rented for the cast party, on his knees, pawing Darren's jeans open. The whiskers drawn on his cheeks are smeared into jagged black streaks across his drunk-flushed face (the front of Darren's pants are tracked with black from where Chris has been nuzzling and rubbing into his crotch) and the cat ears are askew. He's fairly certain that he has glitter all over himself; in sum it's all just undignified enough to make him not give a fuck.

This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Or, like--the best, depending on your point of view.

Chris' point of view is more on the "want that cock in my mouth" side of things.

It's sloppy and fast but Darren with his jeans around his thighs and his scruffy, flushed face tipped back against the bathroom stall wall is probably the hottest thing that Chris has ever seen.

His cock is thick and tastes like sweat and Chris is a little over-enthusiastic and after fucking his mouth for just a few short minutes Darren pulls out and comes all over his face, and the first thing that Chris thinks is that a good kitty would clean up the mess, and so--

He kitten-licks every drop and streak of come from his hand and chin, using little nudges of his knuckles to push the rest into his mouth. Darren watches him and makes dying noises that break off high-pitched and breathy and end with, "Oh my fucking god, Chris--yeah, lick it up, lick it all up."

They make out after that for longer than Chris had actually been on his knees, Darren chasing the tang of his own come from the corners of Chris' mouth, his fingers scratching playfully behind Chris' ears and down the slope of his back.

Chris' ass arches into Darren's hands.

"Round two?" Chris breathes, squeaking out a low noise when Darren's hand squeezes his ass. "My place?"

"Fuck yes," Darren answers.

 

*

 

Another party, weeks later, this time at Chris'--semi-costume optional, alcohol required. 

Chris is wearing black skinny jeans, a black tank top one size too small, and a thin leather collar around his neck. Ashley leads him around on a cheap Halloween costume leash.

Darren goes for the booze the minute he arrives and notices what Chris is wearing.

Which of course means that Chris has to crawl over on all fours, leash detached, and nudge up underneath Darren's free hand. He meows softly, turning wide, wet, blue-green eyes up at Darren. His hair is teased up into tufts to resemble ears, and Darren's fingers find the softer bit behind the stiff peaks.

"Have I driven you to drink?" Chris asks, sitting on his haunches and tilting his head.

"Who let you off your leash?" Darren squints. "Don't cats hate leashes?" He scritches under Chris' jaw.

"I'm very well behaved," Chris drawls, rising up on his knees and sliding between Darren's thighs. He puts one hand on either leg, smiling and tonguing the corner of his pink, gloss-painted mouth. He watches Darren watch as he swishes his ass back and forth, twitching the ridged tail that he has sewn into the back of the jeans.

"Go get your leash and we'll see about that," Darren says, licking his lips, his face pinker than it had been seconds ago.

Chris crawls around the party until he finds Ashley, who is currently using the leash to hogtie Mark; this has something to do with shots, but the details are lost on Chris. "I need that."

She pouts.

"I have others," he adds.

She raises an eyebrow. "Appropriately, I am not surprised."

He grins, takes the leash in his teeth and wiggles back across the room.

Darren snaps the clip onto the front of his collar and winds the slack portion three times around his wrist. Chris sits up on his feet, tail flicking off to the side.

"Upstairs all clear?" Darren asks, rubbing his knuckles against the crown of Chris' gelled hair. Chris butts up into the petting, smiling.

"But I'm being good," he teases, lashes fluttering, voice lowered. 

"Good kitties get rewards," Darren replies, scritching down the back of Chris' neck and around under his jaw. Darren gently boops him on his black-painted nose.

Chris flushes, eyes raking over Darren's body (tight t-shirt and jeans, obviously intentional). "Walk?"

Being led by a tightly snapped collar across the living room and up the stairs--eyes on them the whole way--excites Chris more than he'd expected it to.

Darren follows every bob of his ass and hips, and every flex of his thigh muscles as he crawls. 

By the time that they close the bedroom door behind them he's straining against his already far too tight jeans, and he gasps out in surprise when Darren helps him up, guides him belly-first into the door and slams him against it and bites the back of his neck.

Oh, fuck yes.

Chris' head spins. He's had just enough alcohol to loosen his limbs and make him needy but not enough to impair his judgment, and Darren's cock rutting against his ass is enough to make his spine bend wantonly. He rolls a high-pitched trill in his throat, clawing at the door.

Darren's hand slides around his waist and down between his hips and the door, squeezing him through his jeans. "Mm--get on the bed."

The moment that he's given room, Darren gets him out of his tank top. He folds down onto his hands and then crawls up onto the bed, naked torso and back and shoulders flexing with every step.

He breathes out, feeling overwhelmingly aroused, undoing his pants and peeling them and his underwear off of his ass and hips, folding them down around his knees. He normally wouldn't jump to that so quickly, except--

He bites his lip and glances over his shoulder. Darren is just staring at him, rubbing the clearly defined shape of his erection through his jeans. "You--you're--"

Already wet and stretched; Chris had taken the plug out just before Darren arrived at the party. He flicks the tail attached to his pants a little, going down on his elbows and lifting his ass higher into the air. The cool touch of air-conditioning over his slick, gaping hole is like torture.

He mewls softly, wiggling side to side, shaved balls swaying, a blush rushing down his neck. He can't resist the temptation to reach behind and spread himself, pushing a finger inside of his ass and whimpering. "Want you inside, fucking aching for it."

"Fuck," Darren curses, jerking his belt and jeans open and kneeling up on the bed. "Fuck, you just want me to--"

Chris meows low in his throat, more of a grumbling growl than anything else; it comes out desperate and rough and he rubs himself like a true cat in heat against Darren's erection; he can feel the thick, hot, hardness so clearly and it's like torture as he grinds his hole down and over the length again and again.

"Jesus, Chris." Darren thrusts forward, sending Chris' pale, round ass even higher, forcing his freckled back to bend and his cheek to smash into the bedspread. Darren does it again, harder, inhaling sharp and loud as Chris' wet cheeks clamp around his clothed cock.

Chris whines, high-pitched and desperate. "Need it. Need you so bad, come on. Put it in."

Darren wrestles his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and comes up with the single condom that lives there. He tears the foil, shoves his boxers down under his balls and puts it on so quickly that he almost drops it. Chris buries his head in the sweaty crook of his elbow, whimpering and spreading his knees. His ass cheeks spread wide and Darren slaps the divide between his ass cheeks hard with the shaft of his cock. Chris mewls.

"Naughty kitty," Darren drawls, dragging the head of his dick over Chris' soft, stretched rim. "Soaking wet for me already. Brought me up here just so you could get off; so selfish." 

He rubs the pad of his thumb hard over Chris' pucker and with his other hand grabs the tail hanging between Chris' legs and tugs, using it to haul him closer. That done he abandons the tail and instead gathers up the leash and pulls until it goes taut, making Chris' head lift. He pushes forward, nudging the head of his cock against Chris' hole. 

"Gonna be good for me? Let me all the way in like a good boy?"

Chris moans affirmatively. There's a lubricant tube on the bed (he had planned this, after all), but he wonders if he's stretched enough to forget about it--he really, really wants to feel it, wants it to burn, and knows that if he plays with Darren the way he usually does, neither of them will last long. They're both absolute kids when it comes to stamina, almost joyfully so.

But Darren is already reaching for it. He dabs just a little onto Chris' entrance, so quickly that Chris hardly notices, and with one long groaning exhale pushes inside. "Fuck, baby, so fucking tight."

Chris whimpers, arching his back and pushing. "Ungh--" He bites the inside of his arm to get through the initial stretch, then huffs a breath harshly when Darren's cock scrapes over his prostate. He lets out a soft chirping noise--the kind that his cat often makes when he wants immediate attention, and Darren slams forward at that same angle again.

"Wanna fuck the come out of you," Darren growls, pulling on the leash, making Chris' breath come short. "Shit."

It feels stupidly good. The plug had ground up against his insides for hours and his prostate is swollen as hell, not to mention the tight cage of his jeans causing friction that's kept him half-hard all evening; he could come whenever he chose, at this point.

"Chris," Darren pants. "Close. Are you...?"

Chris meows softly, moving faster, working himself hard, faster, back on Darren's dick. Minutes pass in a blind haze of buzzed, sticky pleasure. "Keep fucking me. Yes. Fuck."

"Shit. Shit." Darren speeds up; the bed squeaks and Chris' gasping, whining cat noises are all they have between them besides sweat and skin. But Chris is good at this, he does it all the time; his prostate is throbbing with every pass and Darren is fucking so hard inside of him.

Chris writhes his hips until he finds just the right rhythm; a staccato riff of increasingly fast, high-pitched noises warns Darren, and before Chris can even reach between his own legs to cheat, his cock jerks and throbs and his balls tighten and he shoots all over the bed, hips twitching with every pulse.

It's only when he feels the wet splatter over his bare back that he realizes Darren had taken the condom off and come all over him.

Fuck. 

He turns around, watching Darren fist his softening dick, weak creamy droplets plip-plopping down onto Chris' spread cheeks. He laughs breathlessly into the bed, muscles still twitching everywhere. "Shit, Dare."

"You are ridiculous," Darren groans, leaning over his back. "Fucking love you."

Chris meows playfully in response, rolling over into Darren's arms and kissing him.


End file.
